


The Nightmares of Solitude

by TechnologicalNoiz



Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Eye Trauma, Nail Trauma, Other, Self-Harm, Sensory Deprivation, Suicide attempt mentioned, This is really fucking dark, Vomit, locked up and left behind, suicidal thought, the Farm, this was another one for badthingshappenbingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 07:58:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18048647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TechnologicalNoiz/pseuds/TechnologicalNoiz
Summary: Sidestep is recaptured by the Farm and locked in solitary confinement





	The Nightmares of Solitude

“Please!” You voice is anguished. “Please don’t leave me here! I promise I’ll be good. I won’t try to escape again!”

“Oh you poor cuckoo, out in the world so long that you forgot that you don’t have a choice. Not really. Besides,” the voice is gentle, though it does nothing to alleviate your terror, too many bad memories, “this is for your own good.” With that, the door is shut behind them, the lights go out, leaving you alone in total darkness. They are trying to break you and they will. You know they will. Every shard of yourself that you struggled to hold onto through the years of torment will be wiped away. You know it will hurt less if you don’t resist, and yet you will not go down without a fight.

You don't know how long you've been here the next time the door opens. The dark has a way of stealing time. The light that pours in through the door is too bright for your sensitive eyes. You cover them with your arm. How did you end up here again? Where did you go wrong? “You seem to be holding up quite well this time. No screaming just quite yet. Though last time you weren't in the best of conditions when we recovered you. I wonder how long you will last before you finally crack.”

“Fuck you.” Your voice is hoarse from disuse.

“Quite the volatile little thing aren't you?” Her tone is slightly amused this time. She knows your anger is just a front. “You will submit eventually and if you don’t?” She shrugs, “you can always be re-purposed, though it would be quite a shame. Telepaths are so difficult to come by.” The door shuts again, the light going out,  the silence taking hold.

Time blends together. You are left alone. You can’t see and you can’t hear. At first you try to pass the time by humming to yourself but that does nothing. You are terrified, waiting for them to hurt you, but they don't. They just leave you there like a long forgotten child's toy stored in a dark, musty closet. Humans are social creatures. They created you to mimic humans which means you are social too, kept alone for too long and you will break. You are a creature used to light trapped alone in the darkness and silence, that's enough to drive even the most stable to insanity. They know this, versed all to well in the ways of torment.

You start to crave interaction, the sound of another voice, any voice. You don't want to be alone. You don't want to be in the dark. You will do anything to be free. You start to panic. Maybe they will just leave you here to die? “Hey! Can anyone hear me?” You are shaking. You are cold. You are hungry. “Please! I don’t want to be alone anymore! Please! Please let me out! I promise I’ll do as I’m told!” You continue begging until your throat is raw and you can’t speak. No one comes. No one listens. You really are going to die here all alone. You curl into a ball holding yourself, murmuring softly. You voice is the only comfort that you have in the solitary blackness. It is not enough. They have left you here to rot.

Eventually you stop begging, all hope lost. Despair settles deep within your bones digging it’s gnarled claws into your mind. You can’t do this, you can’t do this, you can’t do this. You don’t have a choice. You will conform, submit, or you will be torn to pieces by the cruelty of your own mind. You rake your nails along your skin, dragging them sharply across your scalp. Your hair has started to grow back. How long have you been in here?

You start screaming. You just need to hear something, anything that isn’t the deafening silence and the roar of your own pulse in your ears. So you scream until your vocal cords are torn and your frail body collapses from exhaustion. When you wake you are still in darkness. Are your eyes open? You can’t tell. You bring your hands to your face tearing at your eyelids, willing yourself to see, to feel. Warm sticky liquid runs down your face, you know it will be red. Red? What does that look like? Colours are becoming difficult to remember.

The sickening smell of iron fills your nose as your own blood runs past your lips into your mouth. The taste is familiar. Bile rises. You vomit. There is nothing to wash out the taste, nothing to override the smell. You curl up on the floor once again, holding yourself wishing death would come but knowing that you won’t be able to end it. You have tried before. They won’t let you go that easily, bringing you back from the edge of peaceful oblivion and punishing you for thinking that death would be an easy way out. You never tried again after that.

You mind is lost to chaos, thoughts slowly churning unable to track sounds, movement, time. You tried so hard, struggled to keep yourself afloat, but it wasn’t enough. You still feel like you are drowning, gasping, pleading for any relief from the solitude. You let go, letting your mind drift, your consciousness shutting down existing solely on instinct alone. You lash out, gnawing, clawing at the walls, the floor, your skin soft and malleable, tearing and oozing, until your energy is spent.

You don’t even notice at first when they open the door. You are too busy gently rocking and singing to yourself. The sound of another voice startles you. Soft and sweet. Your body reacts to the presence before you mind has time to register what is going on. You crawl over to them on shaking limbs, long scraggly strands of hair falling into your face. “Will you…” a voice is small and broken, “let me out now?” No hope only fear.

“Yes, you did so well.” The voice is gentle, caring, the love of a mother. “Let’s get you cleaned up first shall we?”

You can’t speak, tears run down your face. You collapse at their feet, docile. If you are bad they will lock you up again. You have come to fear the dark more than anything else. Pain no longer phases you, your nails bloody and torn from trying to claw your way out. Gashes in you skin left by your own teeth, your own nails, dried blood coating your arms, chest, face. No. Pain doesn’t phase you. Solitude and darkness, that is where true terror lies. You will do anything if it means keeping the dark at bay, even selling your soul to those who broke you. You don’t hate them. You can’t. They are all you have. They are the only relief from the nightmares of solitude.


End file.
